


The Road Trip

by Onmyliteraturebullshitagain



Series: And They Were Neighbors (oh my god they were neighbors) [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Attempt at Humor, Basically I shoved them in a car together and made them bicker, Bisexual Disaster Sokka (Avatar), Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Bisexual Zuko (Avatar), Bonding, Dropping Zukka into the Midwest, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friendship, Humor, Let's be honest, M/M, Midwest Bi Disaster Zukka, Opposites Attract, Overly strong opinions, Pre-Relationship, Smalltown Sokka, adult characters, ridiculous arguments, zukka - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26990074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onmyliteraturebullshitagain/pseuds/Onmyliteraturebullshitagain
Summary: After Sokka convinces Zuko to be his fake date to his sister's wedding, they still have to spend the five hours in the car together to get there. Cue bickering about snacks, playing get to know you games, and starting to realize this might actually work...Sequel to "The Downstairs Neighbor" but can probably be read as a stand-alone. The real start of "Midwest Bi Disaster Zukka" :)Also, there is now amazing fanart of this story by guiltyportfolio on tumblr!! Go and check out all of this person's art because it's so good!The Road Trip Fanart
Relationships: Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: And They Were Neighbors (oh my god they were neighbors) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968508
Comments: 75
Kudos: 660





	The Road Trip

Sokka knew it was his fault and his problem and his pride on the line, but oh hell yes was he going to make it his hot downstairs neighbor’s, too. 

Thank god Zuko had such a good name for shrieking. Two syllables, nice loud vowel sounds, likely to be annoying enough to force him out onto the patio to deal with him, easy to repeat ad nauseum until he got results.

It didn’t take long at all before a head emerged from the patio beneath Sokka while he leaned over the side.

“Are you being murdered?” Zuko shouted, glaring up at him. "Because I swear to god, if this is anything less than murder, I will come up there and kill you myself!”

“Wait,” Sokka said, leaning over the edge, “aren’t you a doctor? Isn’t there an oath against killing your patients?”

Zuko sighed with an incredible amount of drama for leaning backwards over a railing to stare up at him. 

“First,” Zuko said, holding up a finger, “I’m an EMT, not a doctor--”

“Nuance,” Sokka argued, but Zuko just frowned and talked more loudly.

“--second, I’m not at work right now!”

“So you’re saying you only have to not-murder me when you’re at _work_?”

“No, just that I’m only required to _save_ you if I’m at work, and today,” Zuko said sharply, gesturing around him as if to encompass that it was a Sunday at the end of August and that should explain everything, “is supposed to be my day off!”

“So if I was dying up here for real,” Sokka argued, hair getting in his face from the wind because he hadn’t pulled it back yet, “but it was your day off, you’d just _leave me to die_?”

Zuko gave another put upon sigh. “Is this conversation seriously what you needed me for?”

Sokka colored slightly. “Um, no. Sorry. Got sidetracked.”

It was a testament to their more recently developing friendship that Zuko stayed on his balcony rather than giving Sokka a glare so powerful it would have made his head explode if Zuko was a supervillain before then storming back into his apartment. Apparently watching the fireworks on the Fourth from Sokka’s balcony, holding sporadic movie nights in Zuko’s obscenely neat apartment, and occasionally wandering to the pool together over the last two months had bought Sokka at least a few more minutes before the glaring and storming happened.

“I need a favor,” he said, already grimacing.

Once again, Zuko didn’t flee, although he did cross his arms.

“If this whole time you actually have needed medical attention and we did _this_ instead,” he grumbled, “I swear, I really will leave you up there to die.”

“Ok, again, rude,” Sokka said, “but no, it’s not medical help.”

It was a fair guess, though, considering he’d made Zuko look at a weird insect bite at one point and asked for his advice another time when he'd eaten something stupid and couldn't stop throwing up for two days. But no, this favor was far more embarrassing than either issue.

Sokka took a deep breath and tried not to grit his teeth or look even sweatier and more humiliated than he already did. “Will you be my date to my sister’s wedding?”

Zuko’s arms uncrossed abruptly. “What?”

“It doesn't have to be romantic!” Sokka reassured instantly, and not looking like a flustered weirdo was definitely a lost cause now. “Or, just _pretend_ romantic! Or it can be romantic if you want, but it's just for a weekend because of my family!”

Zuko ran a hand backwards through his hair. “Ok, again, _what_?”

God, he couldn’t just nod along with Sokka's insane proposition without further explanation? What kind of friend was he?

“Look,” Sokka said, briefly covering his face, “I came out to my family accidentally over Christmas when I had too much eggnog, and everyone got super weird about me liking guys and girls--not my sister or her fiance, they're cool, but still, the older relatives keeps trying to set me up with women to 'fix' me or keep me away from dating boys or something because their beliefs are, like, Ice Age archaic, and--"

"Can you let me know when this applies to me again?" Zuko asked. "I left my coffee inside."

 _"And_ ,” Sokka continued on with a glare, “it’s my _little sister_ getting married before me, who's this prodigy pediatric surgeon--which is already a lot of pressure to live up to without the added accidental coming out--while I'm now the family disaster bi who moved away from our good Christian small town.”

“Goodbye, sweet, hot coffee...” Zuko mumbled, but Sokka chose to ignore him for the moment.

“So I just can’t handle the thought of going to the wedding alone and enduring all the weird matchmaking and awkward comments about my job or people telling me they're praying for my soul. So I figured if I brought a _guy_ with, there might be less of that. And you’re _nice_ ,” he wheedled, putting enough buttering up in his tone to fry a fish, “and attractive and a doctor, so maybe they'd understand and accept that my sexuality was real, or maybe they’d leave me alone about it--or, honestly, even just leave me alone entirely,” Sokka finished, unsure if he'd actually explained himself clearly or not.

There was a touch of pink at the tops of Zuko’s cheeks. “Still not a doctor,” he replied, and Sokka returned one of his dramatic sighs.

“Close enough,” he said, “and really, that’s your one issue with all of this?”

“Oh no,” Zuko said immediately, “I have _many_ issues with this. Like, so many. All the issues.” He drawled out the “all” like a long exhale.

“Ok, but I’ll pay for everything,” Sokka put in before Zuko could list, probably alphabetically and with footnotes knowing him, all of said issues. “All the gas and the hotel and drinks at the cash bar. Seriously.”

Zuko still looked unconvinced, and Sokka was now realizing, tragically, that he may not yet know him well enough to actually wheel-and-deal him into doing things. 

Damn it. He had to attempt anyway.

“I’ll do all the driving,” Sokka continued, taking a risk, “and you can seriously just nap in the car if you want. And you can pick all the snacks!”

Zuko’s one eyebrow on the unscarred side of his face pulled down.

Shit, what part had been a swing and a miss?

“Or… uh, you can pick all the music?” Sokka offered. “Or podcasts or audiobooks or whatever weird crap you probably like.”

“Great pitch,” Zuko said, but there was a twitch of a grin at the corner of his lips.

“And I’ll pay the pet sitter I’m getting for Boomerang to check on Dragon too. _And_ you can just stand near me and do your annoyed glaring face at everyone at the wedding as much as you want,” Sokka added. “You don’t have to dance or mingle or anything like that.” He tried for a winning smile, but was pretty sure it came out like he was in real, physical pain. “So, uh, what’d you say, buddy?”

“I’d like to point out” Zuko said, and there was definitely more amusement around his mouth this time, “that you _really_ blended the compliments and insults in that proposal, which might not have been the best tactic you could have used.”

Sokka felt himself deflate.

“However,” Zuko said, “I do have clarifying questions before I agree or disagree.”

Sokka perked back up.

“But seriously,” Zuko said, cracking his neck, “can you just come down here to talk about this? I’m getting a crick in my neck.”

So Sokka killed two birds with one stone and took out Boomerang to pee while standing beside Zuko’s patio and answered his questions.

“So when’s the wedding?”

“Uh, this weekend?”

Zuko rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. “How far away is it?”

“Five hours?”

Zuko crossed his arms again and tried to look stoic and intimidating, which might have worked if he wasn't wearing a cut-off, too-big tank top and had hair like he hadn’t showered in four days. He could pull off the intimidating face well usually, when he got all "dealing with high-stress emergencies" in work-mode. It still never undercut how hot he always was, though. Even glaring and huffing, Sokka still thought most people with eyes would wanna get a piece of Hot Downstairs Neighbor if given the chance.

But that was definitely not the point right now. 

Zuko's large, orange cat was tangling around his ankles and occasionally reaching out to bat at Sokka’s dog through the balcony railings. Boomerang snuffled at him with interest and cried to get closer.

“When was the last time your car got an oil change?” Zuko asked.

“Seriously?” Sokka replied, crossing his own arms. “Who knows something like that?”

“I do!” Zuko said immediately. “I’m not riding in some janky car that might break down in the middle of nowhere!”

“My car’s not _janky_!” Sokka protested immediately, offended on behalf of his very old Toyota Corolla with its sagging bumper and crumpled up Burger King bags under the seats.

“I’ve seen your car,” Zuko soldiered right along without giving him another chance to respond. “How long would we have to stay?”

“The wedding’s on Saturday,” Sokka said, reminding himself that he probably shouldn’t make his already-tenuous position worse by defending the honor of his beloved shit-heap. “So we’d have to get there by Friday evening for the rehearsal and then we’d drive back Sunday.”

Zuko narrowed his eyes at him and Sokka waited. He hadn't said 'no' yet, which had to count for something. Sokka threw in one last pitch, raising his eyebrows and made his blue eyes big in a way he hoped was “puppy-dog cute” and not “serial killer insane.”

“Fine,” Zuko said, frowning. “Let’s do it. But on…” he considered, “five conditions.”

“Really?” Sokka replied. "Who are you, the Count?"

“You do remember you’re asking me for a favor, right?”

Sokka crossed his arms and waited. “Yeah, yeah. So you have conditions?”

“One,” Zuko said, “we’re taking my car, not the janky one.”

“It’s not—”

“Two!” Zuko continued, more loudly. “I’m driving, _and_ I’m picking the music, _and_ I’m picking the snacks. _And_ you’re paying for gas.” He cocked his head. “But I’ll go half on the hotel, because that seems rude otherwise. Not drinks though!” he said quickly. “You are definitely buying the drinks at the wedding.”

“I’ve totally lost track of how many conditions that was,” Sokka stated, while Boomerang sniffed at Zuko’s cat and whined.

“Yeah, me too,” Zuko admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “See you Friday.”

So on Friday, Sokka waited next to Zuko’s white Mitsubishi Eclipse, which definitely looked like it had never even _heard_ of Burger King, let alone had crumpled bags within it. They’d talked a little bit between Sunday and Friday about clothes and schedules and work constraints, so Sokka at least felt secure that he was prepared to deal with the coming weekend if Zuko would just get here and play along with everything.

Zuko emerged a couple minutes later, hoisting a duffle on one shoulder and holding a suit bag in the other hand, his black hair messy and soft-looking. Really, he looked soft and friendly and chill in general under the late morning sun, but Sokka barely noticed that when confronted with what Zuko was _wearing_.

“What…” he began, horrified,

His supposed hot Asian doctor boyfriend was dressed in a thin, baggy hood that said “EMT: I’ll Get Your Blood Pumping” in chipped white letters on a red background, which he was wearing along with oversized grey basketball shorts and a pair of plastic flipflops, one of which was blue and one of which was black with white stripes.

Sokka stared at him. “What…” he tried, “what…”

Zuko beeped his car and popped open the trunk. “ _What_ , what?” he asked.

Sokka's eyes were immediately drawn to the shoes. “Your flipflops don’t match.”

Zuko stared at him and then took his duffle bag too and tossed it in the back with his own before moving to hang up both suits in the backseat. “Yeah?”

“Your _flipflops_ ,” Sokka said, with a jab downward now that his hands were free and Zuko was still in front of him, “don’t _match_.”

“Ok…” Zuko said slowly, “are we going or what?”

“ _Why don’t your flipflops match_?” Sokka demanded.

Zuko finally looked down at them. “They _do_ match. They both fit, don’t they? They’re both plastic—”

“They’re different colors!” Sokka cried. “How did you even manage that?”

Zuko was staring at him like _he_ was the crazy one. “Well, I had the blue pair, and one got washed down a storm drain a couple weeks ago, and then I could only find one of the black and white ones in my closet, but it was the right foot so it’s—"

“But—but—” Sokka said, gesturing at them again. “They’re like… ninety-seven cents at Walmart to get a new pair! Why not just get a new pair?”

“Why?” Zuko replied, still looking at him like he’d grown another head for being offended by Zuko's absolutely idiotic and horrifying footwear. “I ended up with a pair that fit so why would I—”

“But they’re not a pair!” Sokka argued, and Zuko threw up his hands.

“I’m not wearing them to the _wedding_ ,” he said, “so it doesn’t matter. I’m just getting comfortable for the drive and need something to walk around in the hotel. Can we just go, please?”

“This is not over,” Sokka replied with a jab at the other man's face, but did head toward the passenger side and get in.

Zuko rolled his eyes, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the car.

“I thought you’d have more to say about the sweatshirt, actually,” he said, shooting Sokka a glance before looking over his shoulder and pulling out of the parking spot.

“I mean, I'm always here for a slightly weird pun…” Sokka replied, sitting back, and Zuko actually laughed.

The first order of business was definitely a gas station to fill up and get snacks, which fell to Zuko’s decision making and Sokka’s wallet.

“I had no idea you’d feel so strongly about snacks,” Sokka said, heading toward the interior of the gas station after he’d paid to fill the tank. He glanced at Zuko. “And you’re going _in public_ with those flipflops!”

“Will you get over the flipflops?” Zuko snapped, holding the door open for Sokka to go through first. “We’ve got five hours in a car.”

“Still,” Sokka sniffed.

“And I’m opinionated about snacks because some snacks are _good_ ,” he said, steering them down an aisle of salty options, “and some are abominations against God.”

Sokka let out a surprised, unattractive bark of laughter right in the middle of the gas station, and the old woman working the counter frowned in his direction.

“Ok, so enlighten me,” Sokka said, following Zuko again.

“Good snack,” Zuko educated, grabbing a bag of Combos, “good snack,” to a peanut butter protein bar, “good snacks,” to a 16 oz sugar-free Red Bull and a Gatorade.

“Good snack?” Sokka asked, grabbing his go-to travel food, which was a large bag of gummy worms.

Zuko’s nose wrinkled. “ _Abomination_ ,” he hissed.

Sokka held the gummies protectively to his chest. “How dare you?”

“See, I knew you couldn’t be trusted with snacks!” Zuko said, heading back toward the counter as Sokka stopped to grab a large bag of beef jerky and get a blue slushy. 

Zuko eyed him. “You don’t need that kind of sugar on a long drive.”

“Lies,” Sokka said, tossing his things on the counter next to Zuko’s and grabbing his debit card. “You _always_ need that kind of sugar because sugar brings _joy_ , which you _especially_ need.”

Zuko made a point of having their things sorted into two different bags, and Sokka huffed and paid.

Then they were on the road, Sokka navigating via Maps on his phone to get them to the interstate and out of the city. Zuko, he found to his surprise, drove like they were being chased by the police. Of course, he was perfectly confident and in control of himself as he took them out of town already going ten miles over the speed limit and dipping in and out of the fast lane whenever a truck got in the way.

“If we get a ticket,” Sokka warned, gesturing with a gummy worm, “I’m not paying for it.”

“We won’t get a ticket,” Zuko scoffed, nearly running down a tiny hatchback going the speed limit.

Sokka checked that his seatbelt was actually secured once again and decided to leave that fight be for the time being.

As they hit more open, Midwest roads, Zuko turned on the radio to a basic pop-mix station, kept at a reasonable volume, and Sokka was pleasantly surprised. He wasn’t sure why he’d assumed Zuko would only listen to true crime podcasts or some obscure, hipster sort of music Sokka would hate, but this was much preferred. Zuko did occasionally hum along, which was quite nice in his low, rumbly voice, although he didn’t sing, and his fingers tapped at the steering wheel along with the beat. If he’d been alone, Sokka actually would have sang—belted, actually, _performed_ with full on choreography, if he was honest—but he kept himself contained and looked out the windshield.

“So the hoodie,” he said with a side eye, and Zuko sighed, although he was grinning like he’d been anticipating this argument and was prepared.

“Don’t you insult the most comfortable hoodie in the world,” he replied.

“But really, a vaguely sexual EMT pun?” Sokka asked, smirking. “Doesn’t really seem like your style. Mine, maybe, but not Mr. Serious here.”

There Zuko's smile waned, just a little bit.

“It was actually a gift from an ex-girlfriend,” he said with a forced casualness. “She thought it was funny that I'd hate it, which I did, but it is, in fact, the most comfortable hoodie in the world, so I lost that fight in the end.” He shifted his hands on the steering wheel. “Lost her in the end too, but kept the hoodie, so I came out on the winning side.”

“Not a good breakup?” Sokka asked, turning slightly in his seat and not poking at the sad feeling in his belly from hearing Zuko had had a girlfriend. “Or you don’t have to answer if we’re not at that point in the road trip.”

Zuko cracked a crooked sort of smile. “Nah, it’s fine. It was a long time ago,” he replied.

“Hence the state of that hoodie,” Sokka muttered, eyeing the framing hems and cracked lettering, and Zuko reached across and smacked his arm. Then he grabbed a beef jerky piece from the bag tucked between Sokka’s thigh and the middle cupholders.

"I thought my snacks were abominations!" Sokka said, covering his heart in mock offense.

"Just the gummies," Zuko said, taking a bite, "and the slushy."

"Let people enjoy things, Zuko," Sokka whined. "Now tell me about your breakup."

Zuko shot him a look but settled back, only one hand on the steering wheel as he leaned the other into the window frame.

“Eh, we'd dated for a while because we ran in the same circle of friends, but then it turned out she couldn’t handle my work hours,” Zuko said as he chewed on the last of the pilfered jerky, “and I’d just started, so they were extra insane and erratic, and I guess she decided waiting around for me wasn’t worth it when her coworker dick was just _right there_."

“Wow…” Sokka said, sitting back. “She sounds like a keeper.”

Zuko grunted his agreement.

“And,” Sokka added, “she’d got terrible taste in hoodies, because that is not flattering at all. And there are _far_ better EMT puns to be made."

Zuko snorted. “Just in hoodies? Not in boyfriends?” he asked with that same sort of crooked grin again. "And please, god, spare me the EMT puns."

“Ugh, I'll take pity on you for now and spare you my incredible humor,” Sokka said graciously. “But boyfriends? Yeah, Douche Coworker was clearly a shit choice, but you?" Sokka felt his stomach flop. "Nah.”

“Aww, look at you actually being nice to me."

“When am I not nice to you?” Sokka said, mock offended.

“I mean, you _just_ insulted my favorite ugly hoodie,” Zuko replied.

“Yeah, the hoodie—” Sokka replied.

“ _And_ the flipflops,” Zuko reminded.

“I will not be changing my mind on the flipflops because I am right and _you_ are insane.”

“ _So_ nice to me,” Zuko chuckled.

“But like I was saying,” Sokka said, popping another gummy worm into his mouth and then reaching for his half-empty slushy. “I insulted the hoodie, not you as a person. I’m not gonna go around being mean to my fake doctor boyfriend.”

“Again, not a doctor,” Zuko replied.

“Not my boyfriend either, but here we are,” Sokka said, tipping the slushy his way in a kind of toast.

 _Not my boyfriend_ **_yet_ **, he refused to let his brain supply, because it made his stomach do that idiotic loop-de-loop again.

“Abomination,” Zuko said under his voice at the slushy, but there was that bit of red at the tops of his cheeks again and he wouldn't meet Sokka's eyes.

From this angle, Sokka could only see the smooth plane of his face: the flop of black hair, the brown-gold eye and arched eyebrow, the smooth jaw. Unless Zuko turned his head, there was nothing to be seen of the blotchy, red scar that surrounded his left eye and swooped back to his ear. Of course Sokka was curious about it--how could he not be?--but in a rare instance of self awareness, he knew better than to ask. It wasn't like it mattered anyway. Zuko, Sokka had already learned, would tell him things if he felt like it, and if he didn't, he was still the hot, broody dude that made Sokka's brain stupid. So win-win.

"Uh, I just realized," Sokka said, stupid brain suddenly stumbling over an oversight, "that I don't even know if you actually like guys or not. Like, obviously, you had a girlfriend, so you're probably straight, but I guess... maybe not? So, uh, yeah?"

Zuko shot him a look of amusement. "What?"

"I mean, I guess it doesn't really matter," Sokka said slowly, fiddling with the cup in his hand, "but I also don't wanna make you uncomfortable or anything, me being bi and all, and you having to pretend to date me and--"

"I'll be uncomfortable because of who I am as a person," Zuko deadpanned, "not because of you."

Which… wasn't much of an answer, Sokka realized, but, like, fair enough.

"But yeah," Zuko offered a moment later, shooting him a slight grin. "I do like guys considering I'm bi too, so..."

"Oh," Sokka said, and there went his stupid body getting all jumpy and hopeful again. "Well, uh, good then."

Zuko glanced his way, something inscrutable in his face, and then immediately snapped his attention back to the windshield and hollered at a sedan to get out of the fast lane.

The rest of the first hour they spent mostly chatting about work and their neighbors while eating their snacks and listening to the radio. Sokka tried very hard to be a good guest in Zuko's car and not make a mess or be more annoying than absolutely necessary. He only commented occasionally on the fact that if Zuko kept driving this way, he was going to kill them both in a fiery accident, which would be ironic, considering he was supposed to save them from fiery accidents.

“Only when I’m at work,” Zuko pointed out, chugging the end of his Red Bull, “and I’m off this weekend.”

Sokka also only mocked him about not wanting to eat one of his gummy worms one time, which led to a _long_ lecture about how gummies were disgusting and fake fruit tastes were the worst and Sokka may as well just drink some high fructose corn syrup and get it over with.

“You _just_ ,” Sokka argued, “drank a very large Red Bull.”

“Red Bull is a treasure,” Zuko replied, “and does not have corn syrup in it.”

“No way,” Sokka argued and pulled up Google on his phone. “I’m gonna prove to you that those ingredients are _way_ worse for you than some gummy worms!”

Which led to Sokka loudly reading off the ingredients of Red Bull and all the health warnings associated with energy drinks while Zuko tried to argue over him and question the validity of his sources and shove the empty can at him to make some sort of point. At which point, they swerved toward a semi, and Sokka made a squealing sound he hadn’t imagined was inside his lungs, and Zuko went back to focusing on the road.

By the start of hour two, the radio station started to crackle, so Zuko pulled out his own phone and put on his Spotify. Sokka watched as his eyes darted between his phone and the road, itching to take the phone from him and tell him to keep his eyes focused on not killing them, but he didn’t. Luckily, Zuko was quick about finding what he wanted and plugging in the aux cord before tucking it into the front consol.

Zuko's Spotify was… eclectic, to say the least.

The first five things that played, in order, were "Punk Rock Songs" by Patent Pending, "Hello Seattle" by Owl City, "Remember the Name" by Fort Minor, a clip from an obscure theater production, and "The Lighthouse" by the Used. This was then followed by a short news report from NPR and the song "Toxic" by Britney Spears.

"Really?" Sokka asked, smirking, because he'd kept his mouth shut this long but just couldn’t hold it in any longer

"Hey!" Zuko protested. "I'm secure enough in my masculinity to recognize that this song still slaps."

He then did a bizarre sort of head waggle along to the synthesizer, and Sokka laughed so hard he almost choked.

So he spent the next hour wading through Zuko’s bizarre listening tastes, watching him mouth along to 90s rap songs and bop his shoulders to weird 80s jams and swing his head from side to side at modern folk. He also listened to non-music in varying degrees, although the medical ones got a bit much for Sokka to handle. Specifically one where an EMT came to a guy’s house after he cut his fingers off with a saw only to find that they couldn’t reattach the fingers because the guy’s dogs had run off with them and was chewing them quietly under the table. Sokka audibly gagged, and Zuko shot him a sympathetic look.

“Ok, we can skip this one,” he offered, tapping his phone, which gave way to music.

“Oh I love this song!” Sokka said, leaning forward as the horrible finger-eating-dog was quickly forgotten in the bliss of the guitars flowing into “What’s Up?” by 4 Non Blondes.

“Everyone loves this song,” Zuko said and turned it up louder.

Since you can’t _not_ sing along to 4 Non Blondes, Sokka let himself flow quietly through the melody, although he held in the hand-gestures and facial expressions and volume for the moment in case Zuko found it all terribly offensive. Instead, Zuko tipped his face Sokka's way for a moment before looking back at the road.

“You’ve got a nice voice,” he said, smiling, which made Sokka feel warm in his chest, 

Then Zuko started to sing along with the bridge, and Sokka felt his face break into an enormous smile.

Sokka let his voice get a bit louder, although hitting those high notes always got a bit dodgy. Zuko, though, didn’t seem to mind as he let his own voice raise at “ _get real high_ ,” at which point they exchanged a look. Then it was like a damn broke between them. At the first “What’s going on?” they both nearly shouted in unison, and then at the “hey, hey, heys,” they both belted it, and Sokka even added appropriately dramatic hand gestures. Zuko didn’t join him in the gestures—which Sokka was grateful for, because even 4 Non Blondes wasn’t worth dying in a car accident—but Zuko did seem just as into it if his wild vocals and continued head swings were any indication. They slid succinctly through the “oohs,” although Zuko clearly couldn’t carry much of a tune even if his tone was a pleasant tenor, and Sokka unleashed the full performance as the song continued and moved back toward the bridge and chorus again, swelling instruments in tow.

He didn’t even mind that much that Zuko seemed to be creeping them toward fifteen miles over the speed limit the longer the song went on.

After that, they both sang along to whatever song came on that they both knew, although Zuko tended toward singing backgrounds and instrumentals—who knew you actually _could_ sing along with the mandolin in Judah and the Lion’s “Take it all Back” or the bass in the White’s Stripe’s “Seven Nation Army”?—while Sokka ran with melodies. Together, they were frankly obnoxious, but in a way a road trip sing-along between friends ought to be. 

And they were friends, weren’t they? What a weird but pleasant thought.

Being friends who sang along together in the car, they careened through the empty Midwest country sides, broken up only by corn fields, Casey’s gas stations, and Wall Drug signs.

Halfway into hour three, they landed on a short psychology podcast about the theory of decision making, and Sokka made his own decision.

“Question time!” he said, pulling out his phone again. “Ready?”

“I have no idea what that means,” Zuko said, eyeing him with a certain wariness, but Sokka ignored him.

“Ok…” he muttered, scrolling through Google,” ooh, here’s some good ones. Ok, first question: coffee or tea?”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed. “In what context?”

Sokka huffed. “In _any_ context. Just answer the question.”

“Well, my heart says coffee,” Zuko replied, “but my heart also says tea.”

That startled Sokka into a laugh. “Ok, I actually do need more explanation than that because that means nothing.”

Zuko chuckled too. “Well, coffee is obviously, like, essential for survival, right? Right up there with Red Bull, the true nectar of the gods.”

Sokka rolled his eyes but didn’t cut in.

“But my uncle would call me a traitor and cry if I picked coffee over tea, so there’s my answer,” he finished, hands drumming on the steering wheel again. “Is there still Gatorade, by the way?”

Sokka passed it to him and looked back at her phone. “I guess that’s a fair non-answer—super important uncle, though, huh?”

“Yeah,” Zuko replied, something going soft in his face in a way Sokka had never seen. “He basically raised me from thirteen on. He took me in after, uh...” he scratched his cheek, "after stuff happened with my dad and I couldn't live there anymore…" 

Something had shifted in his body language, his shoulders raising and his hands going tight on the steering wheel. Sokka watched him but didn't comment.

"But, uh," Zuko pressed on, "anyway, Uncle took care of me and stuck with me through a lot of shitty stuff, and while I was a bratty little _terror_."

"Well, thirteen-year-olds _are_ monsters," Sokka offered, smiling and trying not to pry like he really wanted to, because woah was there a story in there somewhere. 

Somehow he knew they'd stumbled onto something sensitive, though, and he wasn't about to scare Zuko away by pushing too hard too fast. He really was finding that he liked the guy, flipflops and incorrect opinions and all.

The joking seemed to work, luckily, because Zuko shot him a smile.

"Yeah, I had a terrible ponytail and basically only communicated via mumbling or screaming," Zuko said, shoulders lowering a little again, "so I'll be forever grateful Uncle didn't drown me like he probably should have."

Sokka couldn't keep back the laughter at that, and Zuko smiled at him like he was surprised at the response, like no one had ever shared in a joke with him before. The poor, awkward duckling.

"If it helps, I was a sexist, faux-macho shithead at thirteen," Sokka offered, grinning, "so thank god we met in our twenties instead of in middle school."

Zuko smiled at that too, and he looked so terribly happy to have someone joke around with him and not ask questions that Sokka wished he could give him a hug

“Ok, so your answer's 'coffee' unless your uncle's around, and then we swear up and down you love tea," Sokka summarized, grinning down at his phone and just barely catching the glance Zuko shot him. "Next question—”

“Hey, no, you have to answer too!” Zuko argued. “I’m not just getting interrogated while you sit there!”

“Well then coffee, obviously,” Sokka replied, scrolling through his phone. “I don’t have any family member’s who’d disown me over my beverage choices, and tea tastes like leaf dirt. Ok, so next question: Netflix or Hulu?”

Zuko deliberated a moment. “What am I looking to watch?”

Sokka sighed. “Are you always gonna make this overly complicated?”

“Well, it depends what I’m in the mood for!” Zuko said, swerving around a Honda in the right-hand lane, “because if I want sitcoms or something, Hulu’s better, but Netflix has better originals and documentaries.” He wrinkled his nose. “Well, Hulu does have that one about—"

“Oh my god,” Sokka said, dropping his head back against the headrest. “You're not being graded. Just pick one.”

“What, you got somewhere to be?” Zuko joked. “Am I keeping you from some important appointment?”

Sokka snorted and stole a swig of his Gatorade.

“What about you then?” Zuko asked, stealing the Gatorade back and glaring.

“Netflix for sure,” Sokka replied. “They’ve got _Lucifer_ and _The Office_ and _The Witcher,_ so I’m good.”

“So decisive,” Zuko said. “Who knew? I guess I’ll pick Hulu, then, so between the two of us we’ve got both.”

“That’s not—” Sokka began but then dropped it. “Ok, your turn for a question.”

“I can’t read off a phone right now.”

“Then make one up.”

“How’s that fair?”

“Oh my god, Zuko, just ask a question.”

“Fine,” he huffed. “Um, cats or dogs?”

“Easy,” Sokka said. “Dogs. Obviously.”

“Wrong,” Zuko said, jabbing a finger his way without turning his head. “You lose.”

“This isn’t a game show! I can’t ‘lose’.”

“Still the wrong answer,” Zuko said. “Everyone knows cats are superior.”

“No way in hell!”

“Cats,” Zuko said, in that goofy instructional tone he’d had in the gas station, “are easier to care for, don’t slobber, and can be trusted by themselves for long periods of time without an issue.”

“And dogs,” Sokka argued, “can actually play with you, are excited when you come home, and don’t poop in a box in your house.”

Zuko smirked. “Yeah, and they also apparently steal your severed fingers as their chew toys, so…”

Sokka gagged again. “God, don't start.”

“I’m just saying,” Zuko said with a raised hand, “you don’t hear about cats doing things like that!”

“No, just eating their owners after they die!” Sokka said, and Zuko looked immediately horrified, offended, and fascinated at once.

“I thought that was lizards,” Zuko retorted.

“Also totally cats,” Sokka replied. “You don’t hear dogs doing that. No, you hear stories about them getting the neighbors for help or calling 911 or whatever.”

Zuko let out another short laugh. “That’s absurd, and I can prove to you that it's absurd.”

Which led to a rather drawn out argument and discussion on the differing merits of each of their pets, complete with (on Zuko’s side) studies and emotional appeals and true stories and (on Sokka’s side) personal examples and biological explanations and statistics that may or may not have been true. They ended at a stalemate, of course, when they both realized they had to pee and were finally coming up on a truck stop area, and they allowed that one to be an “agree to disagree” situation as long as they both continued to respect the other’s chosen pet.

“You know I like your little Dragon,” Sokka finished, climbing out of the car and feeling the pins and needles of stiffness in his legs. “Just not as much as I like Boomerang.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zuko said, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back. “Let’s pick a new question when we get back in the car.”

Once back in, complete with sodas and Sokka’s mention of “Look Zuko, they have a _matched pair_ of flipflops for only three dollars!” which had earned him one of Zuko's annoyed glares, they continued the questions. They made it through “weights vs. cardio”, “cake vs. pie”, “dine in vs. delivery”, “summer vs. winter”, and “baths vs. showers” with varying degrees of agreement as they moved toward the end of hour four. They’d also followed Sokka’s map off the main interstate and onto back highways as they got closer to his tiny little hometown (he hadn't been home in far too long to remember all the turns), which meant Zuko couldn’t speed quite the way he wanted to. They also had to pause their conversations more frequently to consult the map.

“You could just turn the map-lady voice on,” Zuko suggested.

“ _Map-lady voice_?”

“You know what I mean—the thing that just tells you where to turn!”

“Yeah, but I’m stubborn and I like seeing the map and being able to adjust directions as I see fit,” Sokka replied, pinching the screen to pull back and see more of the roads.

Zuko sighed. “If you get us lost…”

“I won’t get us lost,” Sokka scoffed, “just like you won’t get us a ticket.”

Zuko scowled but couldn’t argue that point, which did make Sokka feel pretty vindicated.

They rode just focused on Zuko’s scattered listening tastes again, quieter this time, with both more aware of the road ahead, until Zuko broke the silence.

“So I’m pretending to be your boyfriend,” he put in, and Sokka raised his eyebrows, stomach twisting, and glanced his way.

“I mean, yeah, that was the idea,” Sokka replied.

“So I should probably, you know, actually know your sister’s name, for a start,” he said, and Sokka felt himself flush.

“Yeah, fair point,” he said. “We should probably go through all that before we’re actually there, huh?”

“I mean, maybe,” Zuko said, grinning out at the road again.

It was a bit weird (admittedly, all of this was weird, but still) to sit there and try to explain his family to his fake wedding date: his dad, his grandma, his sister and her fiance, and his giant amount of aunts and uncles and cousins who may or may not have actually been related.

“Just picture the most traditional, small town, close knit people you can imagine,” Sokka said, “and then ratchet that up to, like, eleven.”

Zuko shot Sokka his first nervous glance. “Um, should we circle back to the 'both liking guys' conversation?” He shifted in his chair. “Basically, should I be preparing for ‘subtly watching me because they think I'm gay’ or ‘straight up homophobic slurs,” because I’d like to go in prepared.”

“Good god, no slurs!” Sokka said, appalled. “They’re super traditional but they're also _deeply_ Midwestern polite, so they’d never dare to say something rude to your face. Best case, they'll be extra, extra respectful and worse case they'll refuse to talk to you." He looked at Zuko's face, his own a bit pinched. "Sorry?"

Zuko waved him off. "Eh, I've dealt with worse."

That was slightly worrying, but Sokka decided not to push.

"Really, though," he replied instead, "Katara and Aang are both great, and people will be much more focused on them. I’m the only one of the two of us who’ll get the passive aggressive comments and faux concern about my life decisions.”

Sokka hadn’t meant to let the bitterness come into his voice at that, but apparently he had and Zuko had noticed. He shot him a look.

“Ok, so… maybe we should unpack the family dynamic more?” he prompted, and Sokka sighed.

There wasn’t really a _good_ way to suddenly unload your childhood baggage about losing your mom at a young age and being less perfect and successful than your younger sibling, or unpack the whole drama of you leaving the small town that nobody leaves because you needed to make your own way before you lost your mind, _and_ to add on the whole “people don't actually believe I'm bi and think a nice girl will somehow stop me being a fuck-up." But since there _wasn’t_ a good way, Sokka just sort of unceremoniously dumped it all in Zuko’s lap as he drove.

Surprise. Here’s my trauma.

God bless him, but Zuko at least stayed quiet through the whole thing and didn’t make weird faces or look at Sokka like he felt sorry for him. Really, he just sort of nodded at appropriate times and occasionally frowned. Then when Sokka trailed off and Zuko said nothing, he suddenly wished they weren’t something like a half hour from his old home town and that he’d thought through this “fake boyfriend” plan for longer than three minutes and also that Zuko would just dump him out on the side of the road.

“Huh,” was all Zuko said finally.

“Um, yeah,” Sokka replied, with equal eloquence.

“So that’s…” Zuko said, running a hand backward through his hair, “a lot to unpack.”

“Yeah,” Sokka said, now just embarrassed about the whole thing. Great plan. Dump your self worth issues and homophobic family on the hot guy who was maybe finally starting to become your friend.

Sokka turned his face to the window. “We can definitely turn around and just drive back home now.”

Zuko seemed startled into a laugh. “Why? Decided I’m not actually the fake boyfriend you want to bring back to get your family to accept you?”

“What?” Sokka replied. “What—no, you’re _perfect_ , what the hell are you talking about? I figured _you_ wouldn’t want to continue with this knowing your fake boyfriend was actually an insecure disaster.”

“Ok first,” Zuko said, shooting Sokka a look, “I already knew you were a disaster. We met by you screaming at me off a balcony, remember?”

Sokka couldn’t exactly argue with that, so he settled for muttering something about it still being the cat’s fault.

“Second,” Zuko continued, ignoring him, “I… _definitely_ get family issues, trust me, so it'd be pretty hard for any of your family drama to even scratch the surface of mine." He smiled wryly. "Third, I agreed to help you out and I’m going to, so I’m not driving five more hours _back_ home just because you’re suddenly second guessing your own plan. And fourth,” he finished, smirking as he looked Sokka's way, “I’m _perfect_ , huh?”

There was something attractive and mischievous in his eyes, and Sokka flushed, realizing he had, in fact, said that and that he was an idiot.

“You’re perfect for pretending to be a fake boyfriend,” Sokka explained quickly, feeling himself sputtering, “if you just, you know, change everything about yourself and act like a normal human, you sugar-hating, caffeine-addicted, overly-opinionated, mismatched-flipflop-wearing _jerkface_.”

Zuko burst out laughing at that, and it really was a great sound that Sokka decided he’d like to hear more of. Not just Zuko's snorts and grunts and chuckles but the full on, head thrown back, probably-not-safe-for-driving belly laugh Sokka had somehow surprised out of him via ridiculous insults.

“You’re really never letting the flipflop thing go, are you?” Zuko said.

“I am not,” Sokka said, crossing his arms. “But that’s the only part of that you’re offended by?”

“I’m not offended by any of it,” Zuko replied with a strangely pleased smile, actually, “because it’s all true. Although you missed also calling me tone-deaf, sleep-deprived, and overly-demanding." He cocked his head. "And 'jerkface' might not be _totally_ warranted, but I'll let it slide."

Sokka chuckled to himself. “Turn at the next right,” he said, “and I don’t think you’re tone deaf.”

Zuko made the turn and grunted at his response

“And I didn’t know you were sleep deprived,” Sokka continued, “although it makes sense and does explain a lot about you as a person. And…” he looked over at Zuko, a fondness settling into the middle of his chest, which was _dangerous_ , damn it, but he couldn't stop, “for doing this big of a favor of me after only knowing me a couple of months, you could have been a lot more demanding.”

Zuko chuckled again. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

“How many weddings do you think I’ll be dragging you to?” Sokka asked, incredulous.

“I guess that depends on how this one goes, huh?” Zuko said, and there was something amused and maybe almost… _flirtatious_ in his expression as he turned it Sokka's way. Could that be right?

It was gone before Sokka could think too much more about it, though, which was probably for the best. Why the hell would someone like _Zuko_ be flirting with someone like _Sokka_? Besides, they were becoming actual friends, and Sokka did, genuinely, like spending time with him, ridiculous opinions and all. Yes, Zuko was stupid attractive even in his frumpy hoodie, and he was funny and smart and surprisingly easy to talk to. But whatever their friendship was now, it still felt tenuous, and Sokka realized that possible friendship wasn’t something he was willing to risk by pushing for anything more.

“So how long have we been dating?” Zuko asked, eyes narrowed at the small green signs going along the highway.

“ _What_ ?” Had he been reading Sokka's mind? Was he _actually_ a supervillain?

“For the fake dating thing,” Zuko said with an eye roll, “my god, calm down.”

“Oh right,” Sokka said. “Yeah, we should probably have a consistent story for that.”

“I say we go with drunk, sloppy hookup in a gay bar,” Zuko said flatly before laughing at Sokka’s startled sound and expression.

“See? Jerkface,” Sokka muttered. “Next turn here.”

Zuko nodded, still laughing a little to himself like he was so terribly clever.

“Can we just go with meeting as neighbors a few months ago? You know, 'oh we ran into each other in the hall and started talking and it just grew from there'?" Sokka asked. "Like the truth but without the yelling over balconies and me thinking you were a middle aged woman."

Zuko snorted but replied, “Makes sense to me."

“Less to keep track of that way too,” Sokka said, “because really, how would _you and I_ have somehow met and hooked up at a gay bar anyway?”

Zuko shot him a smile but apparently chose not to comment before looking back out at the road. “So where am I going right now?”

“Hotel in Waterfront, which is the next town over from my hometown,” Sokka said, swiping along his map again. “My sister’s got a block of rooms there for the wedding. Pirta is too small to have a decent hotel, but it’s only fifteen miles away or so.”

“Too small to have a decent hotel,” Zuko said with a headshake. “What sort of Podunk nowhere are we going to?”

They made the next turn and actually entered Waterfront, and Zuko was forced to go slowly for the first time on the drive as the signs suddenly dropped them to twenty miles an hour. The road also narrowed into something more residential and less well-paved. Zuko leaned forward and looked out the windshield and at the town with something like amusement.

“What sort of Podunk nowhere are we in _right_ _now_?” he asked, clearly watching the collections of houses and businesses go slowly by, many adorned with American flags and gaudy lawn decor.

Admittedly, Waterfront was tiny by regular standards. Sokka knew that now. But for this neck of the woods, it was the “big city” of 10,000 people that actually had a movie theater and a Walmart, although it was mostly made up otherwise of Campbell’s Supply, Menards, and something like twelve different churches. It had been the exciting place to be as a teenager, and still tended to be where people went to do their shopping or go to the Olive Garden if they felt like being “fancy.”

Wow, looking at this world from the outside was going to be an adventure.

Waterfront was still a step up from Pirta, which only had a Pizza Ranch and a Dollar Tree. The rest of the town was tiny local salons and farm depos and people who had grown up and lived to adulthood within six miles or so of where they’d been born.

Poor originally-from-a-huge-coastal-city Zuko. This would be an illuminating experience for him, Sokka was sure.

“Oh my sweet summer child,” Sokka said, shooting him a smile at his expression and actually reaching out to pat his knee just once, “you have no idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this was a rework of an existing original story, so apologies for any bizarre characters choices. But I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, I always love comments and kudos! Also, feel free to come chat at me on tumblr if you like academic nerd stuff: onmyliteraturebullshitagain


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